The Scranton Mix Tape
by Bears Eat Beets
Summary: Music! Stories! Michael waxes philosophic! Darryl teases! Oscar travels! And YES, Jim and Pam are in there too. T for language, y'all. Now complete.
1. But first a word from our sponsors

Hey everyone!

Look, song inspired fiction: you love it or hate it. I tend to like it, because nine times out of ten I write because I've been inspired by music. This collection epitomizes just that. Besides, even in an age of mp3 players, who doesn't enjoy a good ol' fashioned mix tape? (Well, _I _do, anyway.)

These are by no means long, involved tales; these are just snapshots inspired by the track listed at the beginning of each chapter, and the whole concept is pretty freeform. The stories won't be in chronological order. Sometimes the characters are interacting with the song. Sometimes it's just playing in the background. Sometimes the song was just the framework I built the story around. I don't even like all the music I used – yeah, that might sound odd, but I don't ignore something if it works. Some stories are silly, some sad, some angsty and some joyful. I only gave myself two rules: every character gets a tale of their own (so all you Creed fanatics look out!), and the song _had_ to be one I could see the character listening to and enjoying.

Because I don't believe something like this works if you don't know what music I'm referring to, I've set up a playlist at the Project Playlist website where you can listen along as you read. You can find it at www . playlist . com / node / 34072057. (Obviously remove those spaces!) I'll add songs as their corresponding stories are posted. I highly recommend checking it out as a companion piece.

And while I'm sure all you smart cookies knew this, I guess I need to state that I most assuredly don't own any of the characters or the lyrics used in the following works, and that no copyright infringement is intended. All I did was throw everything in my mental blender to see what tasty concoction I could come up with.

I _really _hope you enjoy this. Whether you do or don't, please tell me – I love a review!

Also, thank you to my amazing husband, who despite hating fan fiction has let his love for me, music and The Office move him to help me with this. I love that guy.

Sincerely,  
--BEBee. :)


	2. Track 1: Dwight

**TRACK 1: "Ramble On," Led Zeppelin.**

"Tonight is the night, Dwight," Michael ruled as Dwight guided his Trans Am out of the office's parking lot. "It's going to be magic. I can feel it. Two single guys, headed out for a night on the town."

"Well, Michael, there will be three of us – you, me and Ryan."

"Oh…right. Me and Ryan, and you."

Dwight smiled confidently. He and Michael out for the night in New York City – how amazing was that? Oh, sure, and the temp; no matter how far into the upper echelons Ryan weaseled, Dwight would never stop referring to him by that moniker, even if he could only do so mentally without committing insubordination. The invite meant only one thing – _he_ was Michael's favorite. Not that slacker Jim, or the suck-up known as…well, just the suck-up would suffice. _He _was the chosen one: Dwight Schrute.

"How many women do you think we'll meet?" he asked eagerly. Michael shrugged.

"Who knows? The sky's the limit. And they're all beautiful. Every last one. Ryan said so."

"I believe he said unreal."

Michael's head whipped around. "How did you hear that?" he asked sharply.

"I was eavesdropping."

"That was a private conversation. What Ryan says while we embrace is between us."

"I'm sorry." He wasn't though, and wondered what 'unreal' truly meant. Staggeringly beautiful? Hideously ugly? Mythical in appearance? _There_ was an intriguing idea…

"Why don't you just put some tunes on. This thing plays music, right?" Michael asked, tapping the Trans Am's stereo.

"Of course. It plays cassettes."

"Cassettes?" Michael repeated in disgust, to which Dwight replied with a smug nod. Michael sighed. "Ugh. Fine. Just put something on."

"I have just the thing," Dwight assured him, fishing in a basket next to him and coming up with the desired tape. He popped it on the second side, then hit fast forward.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding the perfect first song." The tape whirred a moment longer before Dwight stopped it. Peppy guitar strains leaked from the speakers.

"What is this?" Michael asked.

"Only the rock royalty known as Led Zeppelin," Dwight announced knowingly.

"You don't have anything else?"

"Not as good as this." He drummed his hands on the steering wheel to the erratic rhythm. "'_Leaves are fallin' all around, time I was on my way…Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay…'_"

"Oh God, Dwight…don't sing!" Michael yelled over him, but Dwight paid no attention.

"'_For now I smell the rain, and with it, pain, and it's headed my way…'_"

"Aw c'mon!" Michael tried again, but when it was clear he would make no headway he sighed again and put his head back against the headrest. Dwight's heart started to pound as let the music take over.

"'_Aw, sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do…' _Join in, Michael!"

"I don't know the words, stupid!"

"Then listen! '_Ah-ramble on, and now's the time, the time is now…sing my song, I'm goin' 'round the world, I gotta find my girl…'_"

Michael said nothing, but whether or not he was aware of it he had started tapping his fingers on his knee once the beat picked up. Dwight knew he'd come to love this song; it spelled rock…and freedom…and rambling. Yes, this was exactly what he had needed – a night free of the burdens of Scranton, to discover the world and all it held for a man like him. New York was the city where dreams came true, right? A dream coming true sounded good to him right about now. Too many had fallen apart lately.

"This isn't half bad," Michael called to him as the second chorus started. Dwight nodded knowingly. He continued to sing and from the corner of his eyes saw Michael attempting to mouth the words. Once the third verse started, though, Dwight remained quiet, content to simply listen to words that seemed to have been written just for him.

_'Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear  
How years ago in days of old when magic filled the air  
'Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor I met a girl so fair  
but Gollum and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her  
Her, her, yeah_

_And ain't nothin' I can do, no…'_

Dwight pursed his lips as he heard his tale unfold. His girl so fair _had _indeed been stolen away by a Gollum, although that seemed like an insult to Gollum. All right, maybe it wasn't _completely _accurate – his maiden had left him because he'd done a favor to a cat that by all rights should have died on its own, but that was just a minor detail. Dwight still couldn't fathom that Angela had reacted so harshly to what he'd done. Really, the effort she'd put into keeping that mangy feline alive was such a waste. Even when he realized how angry she was, he thought surely the strength of their relationship would win out. But it hadn't, and the last few months had dragged by with only flashes of a toothbrush on his front wheel, an angel on his nightstand, a serenade and ice swans from an idiot in the most ridiculous pants he'd ever seen and a dinner party he wasn't invited to attend. It hardly seemed fair.

The chorus began again and Michael's head was in full bob. He was struggling to follow along with the chorus, but upon noticing Dwight's silence he smacked him. "Come on!" he urged. Dwight shook off the melancholy that had threatened to set in.

"_'I guess I'll keep on ramblin'! I'm gonna, sh-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah, I've gotta find my baby!'" _Dwight sang loudly, grinning at Michael. Michael nodded.

"Yes! Ramble on!" he interjected, off the beat. They finished the song together, pumping a fist and playing air guitar. Dwight rolled down his window and breathed deeply. Ramble on. That's what he would do. Without a lady so fair, that's all he could do.


	3. Track 2: Karen

**TRACK 2: "Red Letter Day," The Get Up Kids.**

Karen climbed into her car and slammed the door. She was shaking so badly it took her a full minute to turn the key in the ignition. Music immediately began playing, provided by her mp3 player she'd left connected this morning. When she recognized the song she laughed bitterly. "Perfect," she muttered, turning it up to the point that the volume almost hurt.

'_You've got some nerve I never knew,  
What with the world you gave away in front of you...'  
_

As an adult she'd swear she was never into emo, but college had been another story. She'd left most of it behind, but this song had made it into her player, and she was glad it had. Of the over four thousand songs she had downloaded it was amazing this song had come on first. She was reminded that _someone _speculated jokingly that these little devices were somehow psychic. She'd said that was stupid, but today she kind of had to agree. "Stupid bastard," she said aloud, to contradict having to agree with anything he'd ever said.

'_I see it all  
Much clearer now.  
You're just a phase  
I've gotten over anyhow._  
_It's over,  
I'm not giving in again…'_

Her cell phone was ringing, but she ignored it. She was enjoying the song too much, and it was probably just him anyway, attempting to explain what couldn't be explained. Fuck that guy.

'_We're loyal like brothers,  
Just us versus all the others.  
You the one for  
You the one for me?'  
_

He _had _been her ally in this weird, weird place. Their office was like something out of a bizarre sitcom, or maybe _The Twilight Zone_. Having all the cameras around only added to that feeling. He'd helped her get acclimated, teaching her the back stories and inside jokes. He'd left one out, though, and it was kind of the most important one of all.

_'I trusted misleading  
Promises worth repeating.  
How could you do this to me?'  
_  
She'd sat in Phyllis's car, her hair sprayed into a ridiculous rock formation and makeup caked on her face, listening to Phyllis telling her that no one ever thought Jim would get over Pam. Karen smiled ruefully; their disbelief was well-founded, because he obviously hadn't.

'_Red letter day that I learned  
I'm sure you'll get what you deserve.  
I see it all  
Much clearer since…  
Far past the point of this…'  
_

Red letter day indeed. She could hardly imagine a less desirable setting to learn her boyfriend was still in love with the receptionist that sat less than twenty feet from him. Cheesy mariachi music was playing, cheap piñatas were hanging from the ceiling, and not ten minutes before Jim had been wearing a sombrero. It was almost surreal, and yet, it fit perfectly into what her life had become. She'd now become the tragic figure, although if she really thought about the whole sitcom analogy, no doubt an audience would have cheered to hear Jim admit what he had. Karen wasn't the tragic figure, she was the interloper - an outsider from the start, made an even bigger one when no one thought to let her in on the show's biggest plotline.

A tear snaked its way down her cheek but she swiped at it angrily; she was _not _a crier, and she would not become one now because of everyone's favorite shaggy haired hero. Her phone started ringing again as she stopped at a light.

'_… And if it's a lie  
I don't want to be the one who signed.  
I'm not the one who falls down,  
It's over now -  
Over now…'_

She continued to ignore him. She wished she ignored most of what he'd said. Like telling her Scranton was "not that bad," that if she got the chance he thought she should take it. They'd been dating for a few weeks at that point, and he made a point of never hinting at it in front of the cameras. But there he was, on camera, asking her to go. She really wished she'd ignored him looking in her eyes – not two weeks earlier, after Phyllis had spilled the beans – and _assuring _her he was really glad she was here. But today, as she watched him and Pam pull their stupid prank, smiles lighting up both their faces, she saw all his assurances for what they really were. Now she was stuck here, alone and heartbroken, feeling like the whole world was laughing at her. Karen slammed her hand against the steering wheel. "Dammit!"  
_  
'How could you do this?  
How could you do this?  
How could you do this to me?'_


	4. Track 3: Creed

**Author's Note: **You may need to hit up Google or Wikipedia on this one, friends...I probably would too, had I not recently watched both Tom Brokaw's special _1968 _and VH1's _The Drug Years _- where they actually featured a poster that had a billing for Creed's band, The Grass Roots_. _Enjoy!

* * *

**TRACK 3: "The Fool On The Hill," The Beatles**

'_Day after day,  
Alone on a hill,  
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still  
But nobody wants to know him,  
They can see that he's just a fool,  
And he never gives an answer…_

_Well on the way,  
Head in a cloud,  
The man of a thousand voices talking perfectly loud  
But nobody ever hears him,  
Or the sound he appears to make,  
And he never seems to notice…_

_And nobody seems to like him,  
They can tell what he wants to do,  
And he never shows his feelings…_

_And he never listens to them,  
He knows that they're the fools  
They don't like him,_

_But the fool on the hill,  
Sees the sun going down,  
And the eyes in his head,  
See the world spinning 'round…'_

Creed made it until almost five forty-five before he lit the joint that had been burning a hole in his pocket all day – for a few moments literally, as he had forgotten to put it out after a quick "good morning" hit before stashing it away. He propped his feet up on his desk and smiled as that first mellow washed over him. Ah, this was the life. Toronto was beautiful, but he liked the four nights a week he spent in the office more. Here was where he had his record player stashed in an empty paper box in the annex. Here was also heat and running water. It was one of the classier haunts he'd called home.

As for the people…well, they were nice enough. He'd overhead those movie maker cats that were always here for some reason calling them "characters." That just made Creed laugh to himself. These people weren't characters. _He'd _known characters. Owlsley and all his gang in the Haight…_they _were characters. He was a sorcerer, what with all the groovy potions he'd mixed, and shared for free. Janis and her gravelly voice – she'd been a sweetheart. He knew people thought that Schrutey fellow was odd, but then again they'd never met Charlie…Charles…what was his last name? He'd been one strange little dude. Creed wasn't sure what had happened to him after his record deal fell through. Then there was ol' Kenny Kesey; man, that bus trip of his had been something. Someone told Creed he wrote a book about it, but Creed didn't need the book to tell him what had gone down. Well, maybe a book wouldn't hurt – a lot of his memory had been wiped out over the years. He wondered why.

The stories that floated around this office were tame by comparison. Some Creed couldn't even understand how they'd become the talk of the town. Everyone had seemed so surprised that the mop-top kid and that busty bird on the phones were together – hadn't they been an item for years? They weren't even good at hiding it. Maybe everyone forgot when the mop-top kid was out sick for a few days. And why did that square keep trying to woo Pumpkin? The blonde was Schrutey's lady love, had been since the party at the mop-top kid's house. He'd seen them with his own two eyes…hell, he'd watched for a bit. Would've taped it, if he'd remembered his video camera. Creed narrowed his eyes and took a deep hit. Did he _own _a video camera?

He had to admit he did really like the temp. That kid was fun to watch. He was getting regular affection from the chatty Indian girl – Kathy? – but he'd also tried for that good-looking dark haired broad that had been here for awhile. What had happened to either of them? Creed thought for a moment. He was clueless on the girl – she'd left in a fury, though – but now he was pretty sure he remembered something about the temp heading to the Big Apple. He nodded in approval. That was a good place to go and find yourself, not to mention quality pharmaceuticals. Creed often reflected on the couple of years (or was it days?) he'd spent there fondly. He also liked Mary Beth, because she knew how to cut loose. Word on the street was she was easy, but Creed had apparently never been in the right place at the right time. With a knowing wink he'd attempted to slip her one of his concoctions that he swore by after a night of one too many nips at the bottle, but she always dumped them in the sink. Too bad for her; they always worked like a charm. He sold the recipe to his fake ID customers for an extra five bucks and not one had ever asked for their money back.

Yes, Creed mused as took another toke, he liked his fellow office dwellers. Not the most exciting bunch, but for the regular paycheck and a roof over his head they'd do just fine.


	5. Track 4: Jan

**TRACK 4: "Sexed Up," Robbie Williams**

Jan sighed, wondering again how much it would be to get the whole condo sound-proofed. The volume on the stereo was already almost at its max, yet plain as day she could still hear Michael emphatically yelling, "No deal, Howie!" at the television downstairs.

Maybe she couldn't, though. Maybe her sanity had slipped to the point that even when Michael wasn't acting idiotically her mind took the liberty of providing idiocy for him. It wouldn't surprise her at all, really. She'd go down and check if this was in fact the case, but mustering the energy to do so was out of the question. After all, she currently lived with Michael Scott. Willingly. Physical proof that her sanity had lost even more ground was just too much to bear.

The next track began on the only CD she could bring herself to play aside from sweet Hunter's. She sighed again. It was her theme song, and as much as she wanted to skip it she simply stared at the candle molds in front of her and let the autobiographical lyrics assault her.

'…_No it's not in my head  
I can´t awaken the dead, day after day  
Why don't we talk about it?  
Why do you always doubt that there can be a better way?  
It doesn't make me wanna stay…  
_

_You say we're fatally flawed  
When I'm easily bored, is that okay?  
Write me off your list  
Make this the last kiss –  
__I'll walk away…  
_

_Why don't we talk about it?  
I'm only here, don't shout it  
Given time we'll forget -  
Let's pretend we never met…'_

The pronouns switched their allegiance when needed – sometimes she was the "you," sometimes Michael. The song was undoubtedly defeatist in attitude, as was Jan. She knew she had no one to blame but herself for where her life currently stood, but she just didn't know what she was supposed to do anymore.

_'Screw you, I didn't like your taste anyway  
__I chose you and that's all gone to waste  
It's Saturday, I'll go out  
And find another you…'_

God, that bridge was just nasty. Mean spirited, and yet Jan loved it. It spoke the words she couldn't even say to her shrink, let alone Michael. She knew she was smart, beautiful – by most men's definitions a catch. So why was it she stayed?

_'Why don't we break up?  
There's nothing left to say.  
I've got my eyes shut,  
Praying they won't stray  
And we're not sexed up -  
That's what makes the difference today  
I hope you blow away…'_

Yep, there it was. The snarky, handsome Brit hit the nail on the head in the chorus. Of all the many, _many _things Michael could never get right, there was one he most definitely could. Just as she was about to pack her bags and head out for destinations unknown, they somehow ended up back in bed, and for another day Jan was fortified enough to live in what could only be described as a madhouse.

It had, in fact, been three full days since they'd…well…and every fiber of her being was wracked with the agony that accompanied that fact. If she could only figure out how to channel that agony into productive energy, then just maybe she could get it together and leave. She stood a little straighter. Yes, maybe tonight she would do just that…it couldn't be _that_ hard, right?

Buoyed by the sudden boost of confidence Jan marched over to the stereo and flicked it off, then headed toward the stairs with steely determination. She'd really do it this time, dammit-

"No, no, you were supposed to take the _next _deal!" Michael's cry drifted up the stairs. She stopped short, then proceeded slowly down the remaining four stairs. There he stood, two feet from the tiny plasma screen and wearing a frown. She took a deep breath. Despite being reassured that her mental state hadn't passed the point of no return, she knew she wouldn't be leaving tonight.

"Hey babe," she greeted him. He looked over at her in surprise.

"Oh, hey babe! Wanna watch with me?"

"I was thinking it was about time for bed," she said, arching an eyebrow and giving him a suggestive grin. Lightning quick he turned off the television.

"Whatever you say, babe!" he readily agreed as he followed her back up the stairs.


	6. Track 5: Kevin

**TRACK 5: "Message In A Bottle," The Police**

'_Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh  
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh  
More loneliness than any man could bear  
Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh…_

_A year has passed since I wrote my note  
But I should have known this right from the start  
Only hope can keep me together  
Love can mend your life but  
Love can break your heart…_

_I'll send an S.O.S. to the world,  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world,  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my  
Message in a bottle,  
Message in a bottle…_

_Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw -  
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore  
Seems I'm not alone in being alone -  
Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home…'_

Kevin gave the cards one last shuffle. "Blinds are twenty and forty," he announced before dealing to the party of four gathered around him. Jim put forward his twenty in chips, Oscar his forty. He smiled to himself. After the lack of turnout for Battle of the Bands, he was sure his first poker night would be a bust. However, Jim, Oscar, Andy and Toby had all shown up as promised.

The next few hands passed quietly, with only a "raise," "call," or "fold" punctuating the silence. Surprisingly, even Andy was quiet (although he did look like one of those ridiculous amateurs in Vegas, with huge aviators and a Cornell hat pulled low on his eyes). Kevin didn't mind; he wasn't much for trash talk in poker and besides, it was just nice to have company in his otherwise empty house. "Blinds are up," he informed twenty minutes later as Andy shuffled.

"Mind pausing the timer, Kev? I'm gonna grab another beer. Anybody else need one?" Jim asked, raising his bottle.

"You can totally beer me, Tuna," Andy replied. Toby accepted his offer too and he retreated to the kitchen. Kevin grinned.

"Thanks for coming, guys," he said.

"Thank you for having us," Oscar returned.

"Anything away from the office is nice," Toby added.

"It really means a lot to me," he added with a sudden burst of sentimentality. "Since…uh…y'know. Stacey," he finished awkwardly. Oscar nodded his understanding.

"Is Stacey the blonde?" Andy wondered, tipping up his shades and pointing at a framed picture of the couple on the wall Kevin hadn't had the heart to take down yet. Still embarrassed at his own outburst, he just nodded. "Who-o-o-oa! _Kev_! She is a fine piece of ace, my man!"

Kevin felt his heart sink a little.

"Andy…" Toby muttered.

"Oh, hey, no offense – I got a hot little blonde of my own. But kudos to _you_, sir," Andy said, pointing at Kevin with his beer bottle before draining its remaining contents. Oscar sighed.

"Uh…thanks," Kevin said quietly, toying with the timer next to him. He wished he'd never brought her up. He watched Jim as he returned and took his seat again, doling out the beers he'd brought back. What would guys like _these _get about what he was going through?

"Seriously, Kev, how did you land a babe like that?" Andy pressed. Kevin saw Jim look from him to Andy, shaking his head.

"Hey Andy?"

"Yes, Tuna?"

"Shut up."

Andy frowned. "I'm just pointing out—"

"Yep, we got it."

"Have you _seen_—"

"I have."

"I mean, she is—"

"Thank you. Your tactlessness astounds, really." Jim gave Kevin a friendly pat on the shoulder, to which Kevin responded with as much of a smile as he could. "You all right?" Jim asked, raising his eyebrows. Kevin shrugged.

"I miss her…y'know, sometimes" was all he'd allowed himself to say.

"Break-ups suck," Jim sympathized.

"How would _you _know?" Kevin couldn't help but ask. Come on - Jim had had not one but _two_ of the hottest girls in the office in love with him in the same year. Jim made a face at him.

"Are you _kidding _me? I've had more than my fair share of nasty break-ups. In college I got dumped so many times I thought I was cursed. We've all been through it."

Toby nodded. "My divorce was terrible."

"When Gil and I split up a few months back it was pretty rough too. I'd been planning to break up with him but he beat me to it," Oscar offered. Kevin was so surprised by all this information he hadn't even felt the desire to giggle at a reference to Oscar's gay status. Slowly all heads turned toward Andy, who was sipping his beer. His brows furrowed as he noticed the eyes on him.

"What?" he finally asked defensively.

"You've never been dumped?" Oscar pressed.

"Me?" Andy said, chuckling. "Please, hombre. You're talking about the Nard Dog."

Jim nodded. "Exactly."

"What can I say? Sorry I'm not as _pathetic_ as you guys."

Jim glanced at Kevin and rolled his eyes. He found he could give Jim a genuine smile this time, and Jim returned the gesture. "Ready to play?" he asked. Kevin nodded.

"Yeah." He popped a few M&M's in his mouth, then started the timer again. "Blinds are at forty and eighty now, gentlemen," he announced with a cheerfulness he hadn't felt in quite some time.


	7. Track 6: Roy

**TRACK 6: "Resolve," Foo Fighters**

_'Something that I felt today, something that I heard  
Swingin' from the chandeliers, hanging on your word  
I remember watchin' you, once upon a time  
Dancing from across the room, in another life_

_Lookin' back to find my way, never seemed so hard  
Yesterday's been laid to rest, changing of the guard  
I would never change a thing, even if I could  
All the songs we used to sing, everything was good_

_A little bit of resolve is what I need now  
Pin me down, show me how  
A little bit of resolve is what I need now  
Pin me down, show me how…'_

Roy paced in the Dunder Mifflin parking lot, feeling his blood boil again. How long had it been since Pam had told him what had happened? It couldn't have been more than a few days, but it felt like it'd been haunting him for years. All the alcohol he'd consumed over the past few days blurred the timeline even more.

She claimed she'd told him to make sure they had a clean start, but he couldn't help but wonder if she was actually trying to torture him. Even if that wasn't her intention, the fact was her secret had done just that. Wide awake, on the verge of sleep, out with friends or alone in his truck, all he could do was picture her in _his _arms, kissing _his_ lips…all while she wore Roy's ring. It made him sick. What made it worse was knowing she had gone along with it!

"He told me how he felt and I guess I had feelings too, and we kissed." Those were her words. His immediate reaction had simply been to the fact that someone had kissed her while they were together, but later that night the second half of the sentence had surfaced in boldface. She'd had feelings for someone else. And how shortly afterward had she cancelled the wedding?

"God _dammit_," he muttered as he stormed back and forth, clenching his fists. He had to hurt someone, hurt _him_, make _him_ know what he had caused. They could have made it, if fucking Jim Halpert had never done what he did.

He thought back to the night after that disastrous episode at Poor Richard's. He'd called Darryl, who immediately invited him over. They sat together in his living room, making their way steadily through a case of Miller High Life.

"I can't believe that son-of-a-bitch would make a move on someone else's fiance," Roy stated, taking a swig from his bottle and repeating a variation of the same statement he'd already made at least five times.

"What I can't believe is how you're so surprised," Darryl finally told him flatly.

"What do you mean?"

"Come _on_, man. We _all_ heard he had a thing for her. He's _always_ at her desk, or looking at her from his. They're always goofin' around, pulling pranks, havin' inside jokes."

"You're saying I shoulda seen this coming?"

"_Yes_! You know no man pays that kind of attention to a woman if he ain't interested."

"But I considered that dude a friend, D. I mean, we never hung out or anything, but I _trusted_ him. Just figured he was being a good friend when Pammy needed one."

"Oh he was doin' that, all right," Darryl snickered. Roy glared at him and Darryl stopped, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry, man, that wasn't cool. But seriously, what's done is done, right?"

"Are you sayin' I shouldn't even be _mad_?" Roy asked bitterly. Darryl sighed.

"Of course you should. Shit, Roy, I'd be pissed too. But I wouldn't _just_ be mad at Jim."

"Believe me, I'm pissed as hell at Pammy too."

"Point is, how you gonna move on from this?"

"I'm gonna beat the shit outta Halpert."

Darryl shakes his head. "That's a terrible idea."

"He doesn't deserve it?"

"He might, he might not. But you doin' it? Man, your happy ass'll end up in jail, or at least out of a job. How does that solve anything?"

Roy shot him a look, but said nothing. The truth was he knew it wouldn't solve anything, but even if only for a moment he knew it would feel _good_.

"Seriously, man. Pam's a great lady, and I know you love her, but she already told you – it's done. It ain't worth doin' something stupid." Darryl shrugged.

"Maybe," was all Roy would concede. But the days had gone by slowly and his anger hadn't dissipated at all. He couldn't shake images of Pam kissing Jim, and maybe doing more than that – after all, he had cut her off before she could say anymore. He'd lost the love of his life twice in one year, and although he could admit he'd not always been a perfect guy...Here he always had to stop. In his darkest moments he could easily have made a list a mile long of all he could have done differently. The guilt of it had threatened to eat him alive. It was only self-preservation that pushed sole responsibility for their break-up onto Jim Halpert's shoulders. That was why he was currently stalking the perimeter of the parking lot like a caged animal.

"I know you're hurtin'," Roy could remember Darryl saying as he clapped him on the back before he left, "but you gotta have self control, a'ight? Don't be a fool."

Roy sighed as he stared at the second floor window. He'd promised Darryl drunkenly he'd try, but it was a promise he knew even then he couldn't keep. He had to do this, no matter what the consequences. If it didn't make him feel better, it couldn't make him feel _any_ worse. Just one good hit. That's all he needed. Clenching his fists one more time, he headed toward the front door.


	8. Track 7: Kelly

**TRACK 7: "My Happy Ending," Avril Lavigne**

Kelly heaved a broken sigh as the track she'd set on repeat started over again on her stereo. As the drums kicked in she stared vacantly at the open email on the screen of her pink laptop.

'_Lets talk this over,  
It's not like we're dead...'_

**TO: pinksparklygrrrrl  
FROM: rydaddy1  
SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: PLEASE!! :( :( :(**

**kelly,  
enough is enough. you can't call me at 3 am anymore. stop driving by my apt. don't im my friends. don't even write back to this. just quit. face facts, we're done.  
-ryan.**

'_Was it something I did?  
Was it something you said?_  
_Don't leave me hanging  
In a city so dead.  
Held up so high  
On such a breakable thread…'  
_  
She still wasn't sure where things had gone wrong. A week ago stupid David Wallace had called from stupid New York City to offer Ryan a stupid corporate job, and rather than hug her and offer to take her out to celebrate, he had blurted out those words that had cut her to the core. "You and I are done." The worst part was he said it like it didn't even _upset_ him!

_'You were all the things I thought I knew  
And I thought we could be...'_

Kelly didn't understand. Was it just because he had to move? That wasn't so bad; she didn't mind him driving out to visit every day, maybe every other day. It was only two hours. She was even willing to give up her massive wedding plans and have a quickie ceremony; that way she'd be his wife and would move with him. She was totally going to marry him anyway; they could just have a huge, awesome reception later. But he had no interest in _any_ of it, and she couldn't fathom why. Couldn't he see what she'd give up for him, knowing they were meant to be together?_  
_  
_'You were everything, everything, that I wanted.  
We were meant to be, supposed to be,  
But we lost it.  
All the memories so close to me  
Just fade away.  
All this time you were pretending -  
So much for my happy ending...'_

Kelly sobbed. That line got her every time. She had never really liked Avril Lavigne – she was a horrible dresser and did gross things like spit (although there was _no_ denying her pink highlights _were _very cute). But she had been wandering through Steamtown Mall attempting retail therapy and picking mournfully at an Auntie Anne's pretzel – who cared about carbs when you were single? – when she had heard this song playing over the mall sound system. It spoke to her pain so perfectly that she had immediately made her way to FYE to pick up the CD. The girl may not have good fashion sense, but she could write a great breakup song.

'_You've got your dumb friends,  
I know what they say:  
They tell you I'm difficult,  
But so are they.  
But they don't know me  
Do they even know you?  
All the things you hide from me -  
All the shit that you do…'_

Kelly nodded. God, Ryan did have some _dumb_ friends, too. She told him that all the time. All they wanted to talk about was sports, and hot girls, and plans to travel. They gave her looks every time she pointed out that only the Lakers were worth cheering for (purple uniforms _and_ Kobe Bryant? hello!). They laughed when she told them Ryan couldn't care less about how hot Salma Hayek was. What was worst was when they slugged Ryan in the shoulder after she told them he wouldn't want to take some stupid guys' trip, because – duh - _she_ wouldn't be there. They totally didn't get how serious they were, how deep their love was.

'_It's nice to know that you were there,  
Thanks for acting like you cared  
And making me feel like I was the only one.  
It's nice to know we had it all -  
Thanks for watching as I fall,  
And letting me know we were done…'_

God, it was like Avril had _been_ there, watching everything that had happened over the last week! Well, except for the acting like he cared part. Kelly knew Ryan loved her – how many times had he told her that, during her late night visits? He saved those precious words for when the two of them were all alone, which she thought was _so_ sweet of him. And she also overlooked that line about her being the only one. There were hot girls around all the time. She'd gotten a little nervous when Karen showed up, but Ryan never so much as talked to her. No, loyal was one thing he had downpat, and obviously she'd stayed one hundred percent committed to nothing but him and their relationship.

She'd been such an _amazing_ girlfriend, she told herself for the thousandth time. "What happened?" she moaned as she looked to a picture of the two of them next to her. She had to keep being that amazing girlfriend and just _make_ him realize he was wrong. That was all there was to it. Hitting reply on her email, she began to type. The track started again.

**TO: rydaddy1  
FROM: pinksparklygrrrrl  
SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: PLEASE!! :( :( :(**

**look, ryan bailey howard, stop telling me what to do. besides, i know you don't really mean any of that anyway…**


	9. Track 8: Angela

**Author's Note: **I gotta say, this may be my favorite. So far.

* * *

**TRACK : "Faith," George Michael**

"I do _not _want to listen to this anymore," Angela announced again.

"It's just the radio," Kevin replied. Again.

"I know what it _is_, Kevin, but it's a distraction. _Some _of us are trying to work."

"_I'm_ working."

Angela shot him a look. "Really?"

"Yes," Kevin answered indignantly.

"Well that would be a first."

Kevin humphed and looked back down at the spreadsheets in front of him. Angela sighed loudly and opened a file on her computer. Suddenly, though, the sound of all-too-familiar chords caused her to stop cold.

'_Well I guess it would be nice  
If I could touch your body…'  
_

"What's the matter?" Oscar asked, staring at her strangely. Angela glared at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You just turned pale. Pal_er_," he added after a moment. Kevin snickered.

"Nothing. This song is…vulgar. Turn it off," she managed as harshly as possible, pursing her lips and turning away from him. Her heart started to race.

'_I know not everybody  
Has got a body like you…'_

"I thought you'd like it," Kevin said.

Angela felt the heat rushing to her face but tried to remain calm. "Why on earth would you think _that_?"

_But I've got to think twice  
Before I give my heart away,  
And I know all the games you play  
Because I play them too…  
_

"Because it's called 'Faith,'" he returned, grinning. Angela simply rolled her eyes, but shame from the truth pulsed through her. For once in his pathetic life, Kevin had been right. She could vividly recall the day her friend Ruth had brought the cassette single of the song to their Scranton Christian Youth meeting years ago, showing it to Angela in the ladies' room. "It _is _called 'Faith,'" Ruth had said hesitantly after suggesting they listen. Angela should have known better – George Michael could be _nothing_ but trouble in that leather jacket, sunglasses and stubble. He even wore an earring, although Angela had noted hopefully that it _was_ a cross. She'd agreed to give it a listen.

'_Oh but I need some time off from that emotion  
Time to pick my heart up off the floor…'  
_

She had been daring, reckless. Within the first four lines they knew this was _far_ from a song about believing in their Lord and savior. Ruth had immediately turned it off, but the damage was done. Angela was possessed. She _had_ to hear the rest. Telling her father she had to borrow the car to purchase a new study Bible at the Christian bookstore, she had snuck off to the closest record store that very night and purchased her own copy of the song. Late that night she'd snuck into the basement with her Walkman and listened to it over. And over. And _over. _The song had become her cross to bear, driving her to sin again and again.

'_And when that love comes down  
Without devotion -  
Well it takes a strong man baby  
But I'm showing you the door…'  
_

Angela still had the original cassette hidden deep in the drawer where she kept her flannel sheets and nightgowns. She'd tried so hard to free herself from the addiction over the years – with prayer, with extra Bible study, with stacks of Steven Curtis Chapman and (pre-divorce _only_) Amy Grant CDs. Nothing had helped.

_''Cause I gotta have faith -  
Mmm, I gotta have faith…'_

She knew she was letting her Heavenly Father down, but much like Eve in the garden, the temptation of that silky voice and acoustic strumming was too much to bear. Even after finding out he was a _homosexual_, she couldn't go a week without listening.

'_Ba-by!'_

Angela jumped. Something about that part always hit her harder. Oscar and Kevin's eyes darted her way again. "_What_?" she demanded, her embarrassment sending her voice up an octave.

_'I know you're asking me to stay,  
Sayin' please, please, please don't go away -  
You say I'm giving you the blues…'_

Thankfully Oscar and Kevin were now exchanging quick looks with each other, because it gave Angela the opportunity to steal a lightning-quick glance toward Sales. She _had_ heard this request lately. Her view was partially obstructed by the copier, a plant and his computer, but she could still make out his handsome face in profile, no doubt reprimanding Jim as usual. She shivered. He was so…_stern_._  
_

'_Maybe you mean every word you say…'  
_

She had no doubt his motives were true, but Angela had thus far resisted the pull to stay at the old farmhouse. She knew in her sullied heart, though, that much as she couldn't resist this song she wouldn't be able to resist him much longer either. It made her smile wickedly, just a little. As more heat built in her cheeks she fanned herself with her hand as subtly as she could.

_'Before this river  
Becomes an ocean -  
Before you throw my heart back on the floor…  
Oh baby, I reconsider  
My foolish notion  
Well I need someone to hold me  
But I'll wait for something more…'_

"Seriously, Angela, what is your _deal_?" Kevin demanded.

"Leave me alone!" She marched off toward the bathroom, trying not to notice she was walking to the beat of the song. As she passed _he _caught her in one of his piercing looks and her heart stopped. She never broke her stride, but she knew that soon she'd break yet another heavenly rule.

"Father forgive me," she whispered.

_'Mm 'cause I gotta have faith-a-faith-a-faith…'_


	10. Track 9: Darryl

**Author's Note: **As Jay's lyrics can get a bit risqué – and sometimes offensive – I've opted not to start the chapter with them. The song is on the playlist, though (and I personally love it), so please feel free to bob your head as you dive right into the story.

* * *

**TRACK 9: "Excuse Me Miss," Jay-Z featuring Pharrell**

Darryl was finishing going over a shipping order with Lonny when he heard a persistent throat-clearing noise outside the loading dock. He glanced out and smiled at its source, but continued explaining. He stopped when Lonny shook his head.

"What?" Darryl asked.

"Man, that bitch-"

"Don't," Darryl warned.

"That _girl_ been standing out there 'ah_em_ming' for damn near an hour now," Lonny pointed out, somewhat bitterly – Darryl knew he was still upset about that 'sea monster' remark months ago.

"What's your point?"

"She ain't standin' there waitin' for _my_ ass!"

"No, she isn't." He loved screwing with Lonny.

He sighed and snatched the clipboard out of Darryl's hands. "I'm not listening to it for another hour," he grumbled as he stalked off. Darryl laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets, strolling outside. Kelly stood in the sunshine, wearing (in Darryl's opinion), a sexy black and pink dress and _very_ sexy black high heels. She was digging through her giant purse with exaggerated movements.

"Hey Kelly," he greeted her warmly. She stopped, dramatically putting a hand over her heart.

"Omigod, Darryl, you _totally_ surprised me! Hey! What's up?"

"Not much. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm great. Just trying to find my phone. It, like, must've fallen to the bottom of my purse."

Darryl took a glance at her purse – even though he knew her searching had been an act, it _was_ possible to lose a small child in a bag that big. "Find it yet?"

"Um, no." Kelly put her hand on her hip. "So what's up?"

"Still not much," Darryl laughed. She giggled too.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Duh."

This was the third or fourth conversation like this the two had had in the past week, ever since Darryl had hand-delivered Kelly's online paper purchase. Outside the warehouse door, she'd conveniently forgotten where she parked her car (it had turned up on the other side of the building), talked to Madge about a sale at the mall (Darryl wasn't actually sure Madge _went_ to the mall), and balanced her checkbook (she'd been holding it upside down), all until he came out. He never did anything but engage in small talk with her. He was definitely interested in her – hell, he had been for awhile – but he was also very aware of two things. One, she had been very hung up on Ryan, and may still be. Two, she was more than a little ditzy. He wasn't messing with her, exactly, but testing to see just how interested she really was.

"So, um, any interesting plans for the weekend?" she asked casually, tucking her hair behind her ear. Darryl shrugged.

"Not sure yet. How 'bout yourself?"

"Oh, um, y'know…maybe, like, just making a new playlist on my iPod. Getting a mani/pedi. Nothing really important…that couldn't, like, be cancelled or blown off. Whatev." Kelly rocked on her heels a bit but wouldn't look at Darryl. He chuckled again. She was too cute right now. He'd put her through enough.

"Well, if you weren't plannin' any of that for tonight maybe I could take you out," he offered, taking a step closer. For _just _an instant a smile lit up her face, but she then took on a thoughtful look.

"Um, sure, that sounds pretty good."

"Good. I'll pick you up at seven?"

"All right. Cool. Let me just program your number." Her hand dipped into the enormous purse again, and Darryl wasn't at all surprised that it immediately surfaced holding her phone.


	11. Track 10: Jim

**TRACK 10: "Hell Is Chrome," Wilco**

'_When the devil came  
He was not red  
He was chrome, and he said_

_"Come with me -  
You must go"  
So I went  
Where everything was clean  
So precise and towering…_

_I was welcomed  
With open arms  
I received so much help in every way  
I felt no fear  
I felt no fear…_

_The air was crisp  
Like sunny late winter days  
A springtime yawning high in the haze  
And I felt like I belonged…_

_Come with me…  
Come with me…' _

Jim relaxed a little more. He had just made David Wallace laugh. If nothing else came out of this interview, he could always claim that.

"Uh, oh, hey, do you have your quarterly numbers?" David asked a moment later.

Jim reached into his bag to retrieve the paperwork Pam had prepared for him. "Yes, absolutely."

"And that, uh, questionnaire. Sorry to make you fill that thing out..."

"Oh, no, absolutely," he said as something slipped out of the file and onto his lap. He grabbed it with his free hand.

"...that's an HR formality. We have this very irritating HR guy here, he's probably the only person you're not gonna like - Kendall. Ugh. So, first up…" David was explaining, but Jim hardly heard him as he stared at the phone message slip.

'_Jim,  
__Don't forget us when you're famous!  
__Pam'_

It was written in her neat hand. In the upper corner was one of her yogurt lid medals. A gold one.

"There you go," he managed as David took the folder. He didn't want to tear his eyes from the note, but he had to. He looked up to see David's mouth moving, but he'd be damned if he could process the question. His mind quickly attempted to fill in the blanks – something about how he liked New York, maybe? - and he tried to piece together an answer. "I just um, I really appreciate the buildings-" (they were cool-looking, but so tall and imposing, and kind of impersonal) "-and uh, the people-" (the variety was interesting, he guessed, but they were also rude, and creepy sometimes) "-and um, there's just a energy... New York has, uh..." (sort of exhilarating, but also frantic, and exhausting) "…not to mention, they have places that are open past eight. So that's a...bonus." David had laughed again, but Jim wasn't sure why – had he actually voiced his monologue too? – and he suddenly felt incredibly dizzy, like he was standing at the very edge of a cliff and staring straight down. The slip of paper in his hands was almost burning in his hands, demanding him to look at it again.

"You've been in the Scranton branch a long time," David mused. Jim's grip reflexively tightened on Pam's message and he couldn't keep his eyes from flitting downward for a moment. "What have you liked most about that place?"

Jim couldn't answer that question fully had he all the time in the world. On the other hand, he could do it in one word. "The friendships," he compromised softly. David considered that briefly.

"Okay. Well, we want the person who takes this position to be here for the long haul. So, long haul. Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

Jim took a step over that cliff. He fell slowly, experiencing the last four years of his life with all his senses. A sky full of stars and a gently undulating lake on a frigid night. A too-quick kiss flavored by second drinks. How rosy and sad she looked on Valentine's day. Peals of laughter unsuccessfully stifled as they watched their mischief bloom into chaos before them. Indigo iridescent fabric shimmering under a lone desk light. A tight embrace on his first day back that surrounded him with her scent. The wave of sadness that washed across her face as he turned down her Christmas gift. Her cool, slender fingers passing him a cell phone in front of his girlfriend. The nervous edge in her voice as she lectured him playfully on the importance of sleep. How small she'd looked as he cut her with his words after her apology for her former flame's violence. The water lapping at her burnt feet, honesty and firelight making her eyes luminous. Her scent around him again, her heart beating against his chest after she had wished him back.

And finally, this thin slip of paper between his fingers.

"I…see myself…there," Jim answered, his voice wavering only a little. David's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

"There…you mean in Scranton?"

"Yes. I'm meant to stay in Scranton." And that time his voice didn't waver at all. He didn't know how he'd gotten here – in this haircut he hadn't wanted, in this suit he hadn't picked, in this city he'd never wanted to live in – but he did know what to do now. "I'm really sorry, David, I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I made a mistake." His voice was sure and strong. He'd made a lot of mistakes, really, and he'd make more. This, though, was one he knew he could fix.

David drummed his fingers on his desk for a long minute. Jim remained silent. Here, at least, there was nothing more to say. "I've got to admit I'm disappointed, Jim," he finally admitted with a sigh. "I really thought you were the right fit here." Jim could tell he wasn't angry, just confused. He nodded.

"I thought so too, but honestly, I'm not."

"Are you sure this is the right decision for you?"

Jim couldn't help but smile. He knew he shouldn't, but it was impossible not to. "Yes."

"Okay, well…" David shrugged and stood up. "I guess this is it, for now." He held out his hand. "Continued good luck in Scranton, Jim."

Jim smiled, tucked his note in his pocket and shook the proffered hand. "Thank you."


	12. Track 11: Meredith

**Author's Note: **Alcoholism _isn't _funny, kids. Horrible awkwardness brought on by alcoholism is. Big difference.

**

* * *

****TRACK 11: "Have A Drink On Me," AC/DC**

Meredith breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, the work week was over. Most of the office…some of the office…she tried to count but she'd get mixed up at eight…anyway, people from work had made it to Poor Richard's for a few drinks and Meredith was ecstatic. She could stop pretending to be sober for the day. Granted they'd only been there a half hour, but whatever. Being drunk at a bar was much more acceptable than being drunk at work, even if she hadn't _gotten_ drunk there. The best part was she had managed to snag the seat right next to Jim. Karen had been gone a full two weeks, and Meredith had been waiting for an opportunity like this.

A big, burly gentleman with a full beard and a leather vest squeezed behind Meredith to get to the jukebox. After depositing his quarters and making a quick choice he flashed her a grin.

"Hey baby," he said.

"Hi Leo," she returned. On her left, Jim looked from him to Meredith.

"Friend of yours?" he asked lightly. She shrugged.

"Sorta." Loud guitars began and Meredith smiled. "Nice choice!" she announced loudly.

'_Whiskey, gin and brandy  
With a glass I'm pretty handy  
I'm trying to walk a straight line  
On sour mash and cheap wine  
So join me for a drink, boys  
We're gonna make a big noise  
So don't worry about tomorrow-  
Take it today  
Forget about the tip  
We'll get hell to pay…  
Have a drink on me  
Have a drink on me…'_

"I love these guys. How 'bout you?" she asked Jim, leaning in a little too close.

"Um, AC/DC? They're okay."

"They're the _best_!" she argued, smacking him playfully on the arm. Jim flinched a little. "I'll make you a tape."

"That's all right," he said, smiling. Meredith shook her head and took a long sip of her drink.

"It's no trouble – I've got a great set up at home." "Oh, uh…thanks."

"Sure, Jim." She gave him her best coy look. "So you and Karen broke up, huh?"

"Yep."

"Guess that means you're single now…" Meredith gave him a wink. "How 'bout that? Me too."

Jim blinked. "Huh."

"Whatcha drinkin' there?"

Jim held up a bottle. "Just a beer."

"Lemme get you another one."

"Oh, no-"

"Come on, my treat!"

"I'm actually still good on-"

"Jack!" Meredith called to the waiter. He turned from the bar and smiled. "Another beer for Jimmy here, okay? On _my _tab," she added, looking at Jim.

"Um…thank you?"

"Sooo…single guy, alone on a Friday night. That seems like a waste."

"I'm not really _alone-_"

"Well, you will be when you leave, right?"

"Um…"

Meredith leaned into his shoulder. "I can help you with that," she whispered. Jim's eyes went wide.

"Wow..."

Meredith nodded. "I promise you won't regret it."

"I..."

"Seriously. Ask Leo. Or Jack. Or that guy over there in the blue hat," Meredith continued, pointing. "I think his name's Benny...or is it Bobby? Billy?"

Jim was speechless.

"Hey guys! Sorry I'm late," Pam greeted them as she swept in, taking a seat across from Jim. She took a quick look between Meredith's confused face and Jim's horrified one. A smile crawled across her own. "What'd I miss?"


	13. Track 12: Toby

**TRACK 12: "Leave," R.E.M.**

'_Nothing could be bring me closer  
Nothing could be bring me near  
Where is the road I follow?  
To leave, leave…_

_It's under, under, under my feet  
The sea spread out there before me  
Where do I go, where the land touches the sea?  
There is my trust in what I believe…_

_Shifting the dream  
Nothing could bring me further from my old friend time  
Shifting the dream  
It's charging the scene  
I know where I marked the signs  
I suffer the dreams of a world gone mad  
I like it like that and I know it…_

_That's what keeps me,  
That's what keeps me,  
That's what keeps me down,  
To leave, believe it,  
Leave it all behind…_

_I longed for this to take me,  
I longed for my release  
I waited for the callin'  
To leave, leave…'_

After grabbing a cold Miller Lite from the refrigerator, Toby settled in at his kitchen table and unpacked his dinner. He'd stopped for Chinese again; it was either the second or third time this week. He couldn't keep track. He had ordered his usual – two egg rolls, a bowl of wonton soup and shrimp lo mein.

Earlier this morning, when he'd felt more optimistic about the day, he had pulled two pork chops out to defrost and was thinking of trying a fairly involved stuffed, grilled version of the dish he'd seen on 'Good Eats' a few weeks ago. After he'd seen Pam kiss Jim sweetly in the break room he knew he'd only have the energy to slather them with some generic bottled marinade and throw them in a pan. Once he'd had the talk about paperwork with the couple (he sighed just having to _think _the word), he scrapped the chops all together and accepted that more white take-out containers from China Gardens were the only dinner in his future.

He stabbed at a shrimp in the container bitterly. How could he be _this _upset? Had there even been a chance anyway? In reality, no. Of course not. Pam was young and beautiful, and probably had no interest in dating a ten-years-older divorcee with a kid and enough emotional baggage to fill an airplane hangar.

But oh, the sweet possibility that hung on that 'probably…'

Toby was still surprised by the development, even though if anyone could have seen it coming it was him. He felt like he had as a kid when he'd heard the first whisperings on the playground about Santa Claus not being real but refusing to believe them, even when the evidence clearly pointed in that direction. He'd never heard reindeer on the roof. He'd seen a "made in Taiwan" sticker on a toy that was supposedly handcrafted at the North Pole. He'd even seen one of his gifts in his parents' closet before opening it Christmas day.

Despite Jim having told Michael something about his feelings on the booze cruise, Toby had been his true sounding board at the office in the months leading up to Pam's wedding. The look in Jim's eyes was painfully familiar to him. He never got very in-depth; he just let a comment slip here and there that betrayed how in love with the receptionist he really was. When he had come to Toby to talk about transferring, Toby knew it had nothing to do with an "opportunity to really…y'know…make some headway," at least not in the corporate sense.

With all the peeks he stole at her over the past year, Toby had once again seen that familiar look in Pam's eyes. It had first taken up residence when Jim left, directed only at the top of her desk or her computer monitor. When Jim returned – with Karen - she watched him when she thought no one was looking, even if all she could see was the back of his neck. She had never come to Toby as Jim had, which at the time Toby had been grateful for. It had allowed that tiny seed of hope to take root in his heart. Maybe he _would _have a chance with her. She couldn't stay hung up on Jim forever…right?

He had finally decided that the trip to the beach would be the day he would ask Pam to dinner. If she said yes, excellent. If she said no, well, at least he wouldn't be trapped in an office with her all day, dying of embarrassment. But Michael had made sure he lost that opportunity, so Toby mentally rescheduled for the day Jim was headed to New York for his interview. Taking down various angry complaints from his coworkers about Dwight took up most of his day, though, and when he did have a free minute Pam had been in the conference room filming an interview for the documentary. When the end of the day came, Pam's desk was empty. After muttering about how he wouldn't let Satan get his fangs in his little Pamana split, Michael grudgingly told Toby she had left early.

By the next day, everything had changed.

Karen had screamed at Jim for a full half hour, but by Monday had disappeared. By Tuesday Jim was up at reception eating candy and the two were smiling every time Toby found an excuse to head there. By Wednesday the duo had reunited to pull their first prank on Dwight in a long time. By Friday Toby had seen them alone in the kitchen eight separate times.

And yet still he'd had hope. It just hurt too much to throw that dream away. She was the only reason he could bear walking into the building day after day.

Toby finished what he could of his dinner and put the leftovers in the refrigerator. Sighing deeply, he grabbed his beer and fortune cookie and headed for his desk. He had some paperwork to do, but instead he found himself pulling up a Google search. He had only typed "co" when a drop-down menu showed him "costa rica." He'd done this search hundreds of times, but somehow he knew tonight would be different.

It was a night to stop. To stop pining. To stop hoping for the hopeless. To stop staring wistfully at sunny beaches. To stop barring his mind from wandering down that "what if?" path. "What the hell?" he muttered and opened his fortune cookie.

_Dreams open doors to new opportunities._

Toby couldn't help but smile as he clicked on a link he'd never dared to before. "Planning to Relocate? The FAQ's of Moving to Costa Rica."

Yes, it was a night to stop. But just maybe, it was also a night to start.


	14. Track 13: Ryan

**TRACK 13: "One Angry Dwarf And Two Hundred Solemn Faces," Ben Folds Five**

"So, I know we left the other day on a note of uncertainty. But, after some more thought, I'm very pleased to be able to offer you this job," David Wallace said. Ryan felt his heart start to pound.

"Wow…I mean, great! Yes! I accept!" he stammered.

David laughs. "Great! I'm so glad. We're all very excited you're going to be joining us. It'll be nice to have another MBA around here."

**"**I'm excited too," Ryan seconded unnecessarily.

"I'll get back to you tomorrow with the details. Expect to start ASAP."

"Okay."

"Congratulations, Ryan. Welcome aboard."

"Bye." Ryan hung up the phone, his heart racing even faster. He couldn't believe it. Could he really have caught such an amazing break?

"Who was that?" Kelly butted in from behind him.

"Nobody. You and I are done." He flashed a grin at the cameraman that had rushed over to tape his conversation.

"_What?!_" she screeched, but he didn't bother replying. He was too wound up. The chorus of one of his favorite songs began playing triumphantly in his head.

'_Now I'm big and important  
One angry dwarf  
And two hundred solemn faces are you  
If you really want to see me,  
check the papers and the T.V.:  
look who's telling who what to do -  
Kiss my ass goodbye…'  
_

He could have done without its title, but from the second he'd heard it blasting from his roommate's stereo years ago, he'd secretly adopted it as a song he'd make _his_ one day. He'd always be short in stature – not much he could do about that – but who needed to be tall when you could finally have success to shove in people's faces one day? Over the almost two years he'd been wasting away in this office he'd started losing faith in that fantasy ever being realized, and having Kelly around at all times had only been draining him of hope even more. But now, after just one interview and a follow-up call he'd done it. He'd _done _it! And he'd _finally _get to ditch Kelly in the process…Ryan was sure days couldn't get much better than this.

"Ryan, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Kelly tried again. Continuing to ignore her, Ryan ducked around the cameraman and started for Michael's office. Maybe he was acting rashly, but he was going to make the moment all he'd dreamed it could be. Kelly was hot on his heels, still jabbering. He didn't hear a word, just knocked twice on Michael's door once he reached it.

"Oh, Ryan, I wouldn't," Pam said as she gathered her things quickly. "I just left and he's—"

"It's fine, Pam," he assured her.

"Oh, I see how it is – you can answer _Pam _but you can't answer _me_?" Kelly scoffed. Without waiting for a reply from Michael Ryan threw open the door. Michael looked up, surprised. "Are you leaving me for Pam? Is that what this is about? She's still hung up on Jim, you jerk! Who was that call from, Ryan Bailey—"

Ryan slammed the door in her face.

"Ryan? What's going on?" Michael asked, shocked. Ryan paused and took a deep breath, making sure he was collected enough to fully appreciate what he was about to do. All the cups of coffee he'd made, all the 'Fire Guy' jokes he'd endured, all the mindless tasks Michael had sent him on, all the crank calls he'd dealt with at any and all hours, all of it was about to end.

'_Kiss my ass, kiss my ass goodbye…  
Kiss my ass, kiss my ass goodbye…'_

Ryan grinned widely. "Michael, I'm leaving," he announced proudly.

Michael's jaw dropped. "You're quitting?"

He shook his head, feeling positively giddy. "_I_ got the job at corporate," he corrected, then without a second thought added, "and today is my last day." If David Wallace had a problem with it Ryan had a buddy that forged amazing doctor's notes. Michael's face went through a rainbow of colors, from deep scarlet to white, and finally settling on an almost greenish shade. Ryan reveled in it, because he was sure his-soon-to-be-former boss – for perhaps the _first _time – had a full understanding of what that fact meant. That assumption was proven by Michael's next whispered words.

"That means…_you're _going to be…_my _boss?"

Ryan nodded slowly. "Yes, Michael. Yes it does."

'_You'll be sorry one day,  
Yes you will, yes you will,  
You shouldn't push me around  
'Cause I will, yes I will  
You will be sorry when I'm big,  
Yes you will, yes you will  
You will be sorry!'_


	15. Track 14: Oscar

**TRACK 14: "Carnival," Natalie Merchant**

'_Well, I've walked these streets -  
A virtual stage,  
it seemed to me  
Make up on their faces,  
actors took their places next to me…_

_Well, I've walked these streets  
in a carnival  
of sights to see  
All the cheap thrill seekers,  
the vendors and the dealers -  
they crowded around me…_

_Have I been blind?  
Have I been lost inside  
myself and my own mind?  
Hypnotized,  
mesmerized  
by what my eyes have seen…'_

"So, next up…the Musee d'Orsay?" Gil asked, looking down at the itinerary on the table in front of him. Oscar nodded.

"That's the one that primarily features Impressionist art, right?"

"Yes…Lautrec, Monet, Manet. All the best."

"I'll have to take extra pictures for Pam. She'd love it."

Gil made a face. "Please, no mention of work. Please."

Oscar held up a hand. "Sorry. But we wouldn't be here without Dunder Mifflin, so…"

Gil sighed. "Sad but true. All right, a toast." He raised his wine glass. "To Michael Scott."

"Yes. To Michael. Thank you for your unbelievably ignorant and offensive behavior, and thus this trip," Oscar said

"_Oui_. _Merci_," Gil added. They exchanged grins and each took a sip of their chardonnay. Oscar absent-mindedly reached for Gil's hand and sighed happily. The early autumn sunshine was warm on his shoulders and he was glad they'd decided to take their lunch at an outdoor café. It was hard to imagine that just two weeks ago he'd been basking in cold fluorescent lighting and being forced to kiss his boss. At one point that day he couldn't imagine how he'd live life after such a scarring occurrence. To know now that it could mean experiencing more days like this, well, he'd almost do it again.

Almost.

Oscar couldn't believe how much there was to take in. They'd only been in France a week and his senses had been overloaded since day one. The people, the art, the food, the architecture...he'd never experienced such a sense of culture and history before. It was amazing, not to mention addictive. The more than relaxed attitude toward homosexuality in Europe was also a refreshing change. He could hardly imagine meandering down any street in Scranton holding hands with Gil and not getting disapproving looks, and yet they'd done it in Nice and Paris without receiving a passing glance. Here he was only detested for being American. That he could deal with.

"Do you know how hard it's going to be to go home after this?" Gil asked, as if he had been reading his partner's mind.

"I don't even want to think about it," Oscar sighed.

"Well, maybe we don't have to."

"What are you proposing?"

"Maybe you could find a lovely French paper company whose books need keeping." Gil raised a playful eyebrow as he took another sip of wine.

"Please. Don't limit me."

"I'm sorry."

"I'd also take a job at an _Italian _paper company."

Gil laughed. "Do you think they have Michael Scotts in Europe?"

"I'd imagine. There are idiots all over the world."

"I wonder if when they kiss _their _gay employess they get three months off and take trips to the mid-Atlantic United States."

"The Anthracite Museum _is _a world-renowned gay hot spot."

Gil nodded sagely. "And the Trolley Museum."

"Don't forget the coal mine tour."

"Home sweet home," Gil said, smiling. Oscar nodded, then squeezed Gil's hand.

"We'll always have Paris."


	16. Track 15: Andy

**Author's Note: **Just so you know, an Irish car bomb is a stout beer - usually a Guinness - with a shot of Irish cream (a la Bailey's), and whiskey (if you're doing it authentically and expensively, you use Jameson Irish whiskey), dropped in. You've got to pound it back because it curdles quickly. It's disgusting.

This boozy fun fact was brought to you by Bears Eat Beets.

* * *

**TRACK 15: "Be True To Your School," The Beach Boys**

'_When some loud bragger tries to put me down  
And says his school is great  
I tell him right away,  
"Now what's the matter, buddy,  
Ain't you heard of my school?  
It's number one in the state!"_

_So be true to your school now  
Just like you would to your girl, guys  
Be true to your school now,  
And let your colors fly -  
Be true to your school!  
(Do it again, do it again, we like it, we like it!)'_

"I propose a toast," Andy said, raising his Irish car bomb. Josh and Jim followed suit. "To Big Tuna: welcome to Stamford! I hope your first week was awesome, and may you be happy and successful here. But not more successful than me," he added quickly.

Jim grinned. "Well thanks, Andy."

"Self preservation, Tuna. No offense."

"None taken."

"To Jim," Josh said, and all three dropped their shots and downed their drinks. After significant shuddering and spluttering Josh excused himself to make a call and use the restroom. Andy sighed happily.

"This totally reminds me of my days back in college – pounding drinks, hangin' with the guys. Nothin' better."

"Where'd you go to school again?"

Andy forced a casual chuckle. "Tuna, that _has _to be, like, the fourth time you've asked me that this week," he said, as patiently as he could.

Jim's brows furrowed. "Really?" He thought for a moment, then nodded. "That's right, you went to Brown. Sorry."

Andy's jaw clenched. He'd given dudes black eyes for less grievous offenses. "Uh, _no_, Tuna. I attended _Cor-nell_."

"Oh yeah. I get them confused."

"Um, _how_? That's impossible. Cornell is superior in every way to Brown."

Jim shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I went to Lehigh."

"Well _that _explains it," Andy laughed. He was trying to give this new guy the benefit of the doubt. He was nice and all, but he was an unbelievable suckup, and even though it had only been a week Andy couldn't help but deduce that he wasn't terribly bright, either. How hard was it to remember that he'd attended Cornell?

Andy motioned for the waitress and ordered another round, slyly suggesting it go on Josh's tab. "Whatcha think, Tuna – hot or not?" Andy quizzed conspiratorially, nodding at her as she walked away.

"She was pretty."

"Pretty _smoking,_" Andy corrected. "Blondes are so sexy." Jim shrugged again.

"I always liked redheads."

"So what was the status of the babes at Lehigh?" Andy asked.

"Um, I didn't see _all _of them, but-"

"Bet they were hotter at Cornell."

"Maybe."

"There were a _ridiculous _number of hotties there. And I should know." He nodded smugly. "I got up close and personal with quite a few of 'em." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. I lost track after my first semester. They _loved _Andrew Bernard."

"I bet they did," Jim said.

"Tailgating was the _best_. Tons of chicks, in their little crimson tee shirts, tied up at the waist, jumping around – and best of all, _totally _loaded," Andy recalled. Those were the days…

"Sounds great."

"Try sounds _amazing_."

"Okay. Sounds amazing."

"Damn right."

Jim smiled. "Makes me wish I'd gone to Princeton, too."

Andy slammed his hand on the table before he could stop himself. "_Dammit_, Tuna! _Cornell!_"


	17. Track 16: Pam

**Author's Note: **I feel the same way Pam does about this song. (Shocking, eh?) Like I said in the foreword, though, if something works I just obey.

* * *

**TRACK 16: "Dare You To Move," Switchfoot**

Pam looked at the fortress of paper she'd built around herself. Reply cards, to-do lists and order forms covered almost every square inch of the kitchen table. Her goal that night was to finalize the list of those attending the wedding and make up a seating chart, but once she saw "Halpert, Jim plus one" with a bold line drawn through it, she simply had to stop. The feeling was all too familiar; anytime Jim had crossed her mind since that dimly lit night in the office she would pause, no matter where she was or what she was doing. She had found herself standing still most of the past two weeks.

The windows were open to let in the early June breeze and she could hear the clanks and bangs of Roy working on his truck. He claimed he had to get it done tonight so it was running smoothly for all the wedding events next week, but Pam had an inkling that his bachelor party was the most important one in his mind. He had the radio on the modern rock station in the background.

'_Welcome to the planet.  
Welcome to existence...'_

Pam's breath caught in her throat. She'd liked this song when she first heard it, although she'd lost interest in it as it had been overplayed. Now lines she had heard so many times hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks. She'd been kissed thousands of times in her life. Why was it the one that came from unfamiliar lips had tipped her whole world off its familiar axis? How could it completely strip her of her ability to reason, to function, to trust that everything she'd built around her meant something?

_'Everyone's here, everyone's here  
Everybody's watching you now -  
Everybody waits for you now…'_

She had felt like she was under a microscope for months. It was initially because everyone was so interested in every detail of her wedding, but _now_… now she was sure that anyone who gave her more than a passing glance could see what they'd done – or more specifically, what _she'd_ done. For it would be a lie to say Jim kissed her. Jim had only _started_ the kiss.

_'I dare you to move  
I dare you to move -  
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor…'_

Pam clenched the pen in her hand, hearing Jim's words echo through her mind: "You gotta take a chance on something _sometime_, Pam." She knew now he had meant so much more than just taking a design internship. She had been angry for a long time after he'd said that, but only briefly had the anger been directed at him. He was right.

She felt a warning flash through her but allowed the next thought through, even though it was drenched with meaning. He was _so_ damn right.

'_I dare you to move  
I dare you to move,  
Like today never happened  
Today never happened before…'  
_

She knew the real words, but she couldn't help hearing "that day" instead of "today."

_'Welcome to the fall out,  
Welcome to resistance.  
The tension is here, the tension is here,  
Between who you are, and who you could be,  
Between how it is, and how it should be…'  
_

Since she was a sophomore in high school, wearing Roy's too-big varsity jacket even on the warmest of days, she hadn't asked for more for her life than what she had right now. Oh sure, being a receptionist wasn't a dream job, but it was a job. And yes, weekends spent on snowmobiles or watching yet another football game wasn't how she'd spend her free time if she had a say, but at least she wasn't alone. But Jim's warm mouth pressed to hers and hands stroking her back had told her more than words ever could – that her life not only could be more, but _should. _All she had to do was say the word.

'_Maybe redemption has stories to tell.  
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell.  
Where can you run to escape from yourself?  
Where you gonna go?  
__Where you gonna go?  
Salvation is here…'_

She closed her eyes and let her fingertips graze her lips. Jim had left earlier in the week. It was anticlimactic, but still heartbreaking. In his quiet goodbye she heard his disappointment, his hopelessness. She had felt the same, but she'd still come home and worked robotically on wedding plans. It was ridiculous. Her wedding was in five days, but her mind and heart were frozen in a moment two weeks ago. _  
_  
_'I dare you to move.  
I dare you to move  
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor…'_

"You gotta take a chance…"

The front door opened, and Roy entered, whistling along with the Audioslave song that had replaced the Switchfoot one.

"...take a chance on something_ sometime_…"

"Roy." It came out as only a whisper so Pam gathered her strength and tried again. "Roy."

"Yeah, babe?" He smiled over at her, wiping his oil-stained hands on an old rag. Her lips were throbbing. Her mind was racing. Her heart was aching. Jim's whispered dare fueled her.

"You're _really _gonna marry him?"

Pam stood up and took a step toward Roy.

"I think we need to talk."


	18. Track 17: Stanley

**TRACK 17: "Trouble Man," Marvin Gaye**

'_I come up hard, baby  
But now I'm cool  
I didn't make it, sugar  
Playin' by the rules_

_I come up hard, baby  
But now I'm fine  
I'm checkin' trouble, sugar  
Movin' down the line…_

_Come up hard, baby  
I had to fight  
Took care of my bid'ness  
Wit' all my might_

_I come up hard, baby  
But that's okay, cause  
Trouble man  
Don't get in the way…'_

Stanley sighed as he struggled with the contraption atop the bottle of cabernet sauvignon. "Damn thing," he muttered, finally free the bottle of its desperate hold. Terri had bought the thing months ago at the Williams-Sonoma outlet to keep open bottles of wine from spoiling, but she was the only one that could remove it with ease. He would have just opened a new bottle and saved himself the trouble, but he was afraid that would make the temptation too great to finish the whole bottle. After the day he'd had, he needed it.

He poured himself a glass and made his way to the living room, making a beeline for his favorite leather chair. Once settled in, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes. Aside from the faint sound of some children playing outside, everything was silent. The house was empty: Terri had a late night at work and Melissa was at her mother's this week. 'Thank God,' he thought to himself. There'd been too much noise today, and a remarkable amount of it he himself had contributed.

He would never, ever admit it – least of all to his boss – but he regretted yelling at Michael today. Granted, the man was a certifiable idiot. He was a horribly ineffective manager, not to mention woefully ignorant and offensive. Stanley had been proud of the restraint he'd shown over the years, be it about racist remarks, pointless hours wasted in the conference room or outlandish ideas that anyone with a shred of intelligence could tell were doomed to fail and quite possible dangerous. Yes, all of this was true.

But despite all that, part of the frustration that led to Stanley's outburst was frustration at himself. Why was he even _in_ that situation to begin with? He held a Bachelor's in Business from Penn State University. That was nothing to sneeze at, and certainly something that could open many a professional door for him in the world. He had only taken the job at Dunder Mifflin because an epidemic of downsizing at his previous job had coincided nastily with his divorce, and he'd had to find another job fast. That was fine, when he was in his early forties, desperate and needing money to pay alimony and child support. But now, in his fifties, with alimony a worry of the past (hell, his ex-wife made more than him now), and a wife with a career that could support them if he took a few months to find something new, he was still sitting in the same desk at the back of the bullpen, working for a moron and getting pathetically excited about free pretzels one lousy day a year.

He could be angry at Michael for being so damn stupid, but by all rights he had to be more angry with himself for staying at the kind of place that _let_ Michael manage things.

He remembered an interview he'd done for the documentary last year, musing that perhaps Michael was a secret genius. That was by no means the case, but after days like this Michael's behavior left Stanley doing some serious soul searching. In quiet moments like this, he could admit – if only to himself – he wasn't that pleased with what he found. A man who settled, because it was easy. A man who put on such an aloof front that even when he _did _want to get involved with some bit of nonsense with his coworkers couldn't, because that would be "un-Stanley" of him. He did like them – some of them – more than he'd let them know. He'd been happy when Phyllis found love, even if it meant incessant phone calls he had to listen to all day. He'd been impressed with Pam's bravery on the beach, even though all he'd managed to say to her was some joke comparing her to Kelly. He secretly got a big kick out of Jim, even if his pranks led to hearing more prattling from Dwight.

Stanley took a long sip and sighed again. He'd had introspective moods like this before, and glad that this one had set in on a day he could mull things over on his own. Terri pressed him when she was here to experience them, urging him to leave Dunder Mifflin, or at least attempt to make lemonade out of lemons. Stanley didn't want advice. Besides, he could be honest enough with himself to admit that no matter how irritated he got, he wouldn't leave. He just wasn't driven to make drastic changes in his life. He'd go back tomorrow - and every weekday after that - ignore most of Phyllis's questions, watch his coworkers from a safe distance and leave at five on the dot.

But maybe, Stanley conceded grumpily, he'd try and be a little nicer to Michael. Just a little.


	19. Track 18: Phyllis

**TRACK 18: "You're The Inspiration," Chicago**

"How was your dinner?" Bob Vance asked, smiling at Phyllis. She returned the gesture.

"Delicious, Bobby. They put on a real nice event here," she mused, looking around. The Dunmore VFW hall had been transformed from its normal bar setting for its annual Steak and Seafood Dinner Dance. Tables were set up around a makeshift dance floor, bedecked with white table cloths and hurricane lamp centerpieces. They even had a band, and Phyllis watched as they picked their instruments back up after a twenty minute break. As they started to play Phyllis's smile widened. "Oh, this is one of my favorite songs," she sighed.

"I know. Would you like to dance?" Bob Vance asked, straightening his tie as he stood and put a hand out to her.

"Of course," she accepted. She began humming along as he led her to the dance floor, right in front of the band.

'_You know our love was meant to be  
The kind of love that lasts forever  
And I want you here with me,  
From tonight until the end of time…_

_You should know -  
Everywhere I go -  
You're always on my mind  
In my heart  
In my soul, baby…_

_You're the meaning in my life -  
You're the inspiration  
You bring feeling to my life -  
You're the inspiration  
Wanna have you near me,  
I wanna have you hear me sayin'  
No one needs you more than I need you…'_

Phyllis rested her head on his shoulder. Bobby was the most amazing man she had ever met, and she felt confident making a judgment like that when she thought about some of the losers she'd known in her life. She'd had a few good relationships, but for so long she was scared she'd truly end up the old spinster Michael was fond of calling her. She had been hesitant to inform the office of her relationship, knowing they'd be dubious. Phyllis wasn't blind; she knew she wasn't young, slim and pretty like Pam, and she knew most if not all the men she worked with – or knew, quite frankly – considered that the only acceptable standard of female worth any sort of attention. Bob Vance was different – he'd pursued her, and he'd done it slowly, respectfully and romantically. When she looked in his eyes she saw true love there, saw herself as he did: beautiful, sweet and most of all worthwhile. He saw things no one else did, and she loved him for taking the time to look and learn.

"You know something?" he murmured in her ear.

"What's that?"

"I just realized, we don't have a song."

She shook her head. "You're right, we don't."

"How do you pick one, anyway?"

"Well, I think you usually pick a song that was playing when something special happened in your relationship," Phyllis guessed. She was embarrassed to admit she'd never actively picked a song with a boyfriend before.

"Hmm…how 'bout this as our song?" Bob Vance suggested.

"But we're just dancing…" But Phyllis trailed off as he gently pulled away from her, cleared his throat and slowly lowered himself to one knee. He waved a hand toward the band and they quickly stopped playing. "Oh, Bobby," she breathed, pressing her hand to her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes. The other dancers turned to see why the music had stopped.

"Phyllis Ann Lapin, I love you more than anything. Would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Bob Vance?" he asked, grinning up at her as he pulled his hand from his pocket. He opened the black velvet box he held and showed her the glittering diamond ring inside. Phyllis let out a tiny sob.

"Of course…I love you too! Of _course_ I will!" she managed as she helped Bobby to his feet. A cheer erupted around them. Once he was standing again he took her left hand and attempted to put on the ring, but she put her arms around him and kissed him instead. "Thank you," she whispered afterward as she embraced him. He sniffed once.

"Thank _you_," he replied gruffly, finally getting her ring on her. He wiped at his eyes hastily and smiled at the band again. "Boys? How 'bout you play _our _song one more time?"


	20. Track 19: Michael

**Author's Note: **Well, with this we've come to the end of our musical journey. This story has been _so _much fun to write, and I'm thrilled that I've received so many kind words about it. Thank you all. I'd be remiss if I didn't say a special thank you to my chapter-by-chapter supporters (and _God, _there are so many chapters!) - ktface3, MrsBigTuna, tophetangel and Lynzee005...you ladies are fantastic (not to mention talented), and you warmed my heart time and again. Muchas gracias. Also a special hello to my favorite Floridian (minus Mickey, darling), who's joined me on not one but two journeys into the world of fan fiction. You're the best and I love you!

Also, to "Mr. Bears Eat Beets," without whom this couldn't have been done. Case closed. Sorry girls, I married the best.

Jesus, someone play me offstage. This is ridiculous. Enjoy.

* * *

**TRACK 19: "Don't Worry, Be Happy," Bobby McFerrin**

'_Here's a little song I wrote  
You might want to sing it note for note  
Don't worry - be happy…_

'_Cause when you worry  
Your face will frown  
And that will bring everybody down  
So don't worry - be happy now…'_

**Michael:** (_seated at his desk, his hands folded in front of him intently_) I can't stress enough that this office is a family. They're _my _family. I mean, not _real _family, like my mom, or Nana, but they're still my family. My second class family. (_He pauses, looking uncertain about that choice of phrasing but finally seeming satisfied with it._)

Like I've said, I'm the dad. The father. The proud papa. I dole out the wisdom. The jokes. The punishment, when it's needed, and sometimes it is. There's Phyllis, our smiling grandma, making us cookies and pinching our cheeks. Stanley's our sassy black aunt. Jim and Pam are our good-looking kids – y'know, kids you aren't afraid to show off pictures of to your friends, or keep a framed photo of on the night stand so you can see her before you go to bed at night… (_He looks off in the distance for just a moment, a smile on his face._) Kelly's our Indian exchange student, who we share our American ways with and teach English. Oscar's our efficient, gay, Hispanic maid. Kevin's that slow uncle everyone seems to have – you know what I mean, right? That one that you kind of avoid at family get togethers? Anyway…Angela's a…another aunt, I guess. A white one. The one that gets you, like, socks for Christmas. Meredith and Andy are the fun cousins who…y'know…get drunk first at parties and…yell a lot. Even Dwight…(_Michael thinks for a long moment, but seems unable to find the right branch for Dwight on the family tree, so he just points in what he hopes is a meaningful way._) Even Dwight.

(_He looks off camera a moment as he's asked a question. He raises his eyebrows._) Oh, Creed? I'm sorry, I thought I'd already covered him. Creed's our…creepy neighbor. I mean, like, yeah, he's nice enough, and always say hello when you see him outside, but he's the guy that makes you warn your hot daughter about going in the backyard with a bikini on. He's that guy.

(_He sits back, stretching his arms behind his head._) We've been through our fair share of trials and tribilations together, just like any other family. We've been through fires set by not-as-smart-as-they-think-they-are business students. We've been through threats of downsizing and threats of suicide. Well, mock suicide. I wasn't serious, but they never knew that. We've seen hearts get broken. We've had our financial struggles. We've even seen our share of fatal disease and injury – like Meredith and her rabies, or Kevin with his almost-cancer. And how could I forget my foot? I mean, it wasn't fatal, but wow, for a few minutes there…it was close. It was scary. (_He sighs_.) As the head of the family, of course I took it all the hardest. But that's what a father does: stands bravely by his family. They need him.

We've had our good times too. My legendary parties and celebrations? Tons of good memories there. New love has bloomed. Jan and me. Carol and me. Jan and me again. Holly and me? (_He shrugs._) Maybe. Jim and Pam have had their little fling. Even older people like Phyllis have found love in this very building. (_Michael can't keep a flash of what appears to be shock from washing across his face._) We've raised money for charity. We got rid of Toby. A lot of great things have happened, and I know there'll be a lot more in the future.

(_He leans forward again._) And through it all I've imparted my life lessons, my strategies to my family: Never give up. Look for the funny side of any situation, even if someone claims it's inappropriate. Be _brave_. Be _bold_. Take a chance, then take it again. Don't be afraid to be great. (_He holds his hands out._) All the things I've learned, I've shared, because I love them. Simple as that. I really love them. (_He bites his lower lip as his eyes start to mist over_.) I'm a giver. I mean, receiving is nice too, but I really just love to give and give and give. Til I'm spent.

(_Michael nods sagely._) And that _is _what she said.


End file.
